Jake, a lonely young man bitter and hardened by the anger
and hate that surrounded him growing up, meets Chance, a lonely young man
isolated for no other reason than he was seen to be different. Can they offer
each other the one thing they both need? Love.

This is
told from Jake’s point of view. If any person, place, sport, conversation, or
situation seems familiar, I assure you it is Jake’s fault and purely
coincidental.

It’s What ‘Real’ Men Do, You Know

Six years, that’s
how long I waited to get out of that redneck hellhole of a town. Six years of
listening to guys with the collective IQ of a maggot tell fag jokes. Six years
of attacks and abuse on and off the school grounds. Six years of lying and
hiding who I was. Six years of being told I should stop being such a pussy, get
my nose out of those useless friggin’ books, grow some balls and play football
or baseball like everyone else.

In junior high,
the abuse and attacks were both physical and verbal. In high school, the abuse
and attacks became verbal and usually from a distance but they were still
attacks, it was still abuse and it still hurt. They knew I wouldn’t retaliate
physically for their verbal attacks. Not that I couldn’t, as one of them
learned the hard way.

School was tame
compared to the six years at home with my father. I had to listen to his rants
about fags, queers, sodomites, and the fact they’re all going to hell. And
almost as bad, was listening to his idiotic explanations of what it took to be
a man, which he always managed to somehow end with, “It’s what ‘real’ men do,
you know.” I think he figured if he said it often enough, I would stop being a
pathetic little ‘pussy boy’ (his term not mine) and turn into a ‘real’ man.
That was something that wasn’t going to happen of course, because I would
rather read a book than play football.

If that wasn’t
enough, he was also the local sheriff and one mean son of a bitch. He had half
the town scared shitless of him, so I wasn’t safe from prying eyes anywhere. He
knew every move I made almost before I made it. God help me if I did anything
he thought was even remotely gay. After his belt came off, there were times
when I literally couldn’t sit down for days without being in pain. And, it
didn’t matter how bruised and battered I was when I got to school because the
teachers and principal were too scared of him to do anything. So I just
suffered in silence.

However, all that
ended when I was fifteen nearly sixteen, as did the physical abuse at school.
Why you ask. There were two reasons actually. One was the result of the other.
First, when I was twelve, my father forced me to get involved with a sport. It
might make a man out of me he told me. Playing sports, it’s what ‘real’ men do,
you know.

I didn’t realize
it at the time, and neither did he, but he may have saved my life by doing
that. I had to get involved in some sport. I had no choice. He assumed I would
choose some team sport but he was wrong. I wasn’t going to play football that
was for sure. First, I hated the game and second, I was way too small and would
have most likely been seriously injured or killed. Baseball is more boring and
stupid than football, so that was out. I thought for a while and asked myself,
‘what would really impress the hell out of my father.’ Then it came to me. I
needed to find a sport where I would have the ability to kill people, you know,
like a ‘real’ man.

It just happened
that a young ex-marine, Ross Ellington, had started up a karate school in town,
so I signed up. Unfortunately, it was mostly girls and young kids in the
course. I think I was the only guy over ten. The other guys at school, being
rough and tough muscle bound farm boys thought it was for girls and pussy boys.
So did my father. Obviously, they were right, I was in it. But I worked my ass
off and in less than four years, I became a walking, talking lethal weapon and
everything changed, which brings up the second reason.

The quarterback of
football team decided that he was going to show off for his buddies by kicking
the pussy boy’s ass one afternoon. He was six three and a hundred and ninety
pounds to my five eight and a hundred and thirty pounds. He didn’t know what
hit him and the “fight’ was over in ten seconds. I spun around and lifted off
the ground. My right foot made contact with his jaw, breaking it, just before
my left foot made contact with his ribs, breaking two of them. The instant I
landed, and before he had time to fall backwards, I struck him twice in the throat.
I turned and walked away leaving him gasping for breath and crying out in pain.
I also left his buddies standing awestruck by what they had just witnessed.

Needless to say,
things changed dramatically for me after that. Suddenly my classmates and more
importantly, my father became aware that at fifteen, I could take any one of
them out. To help my cause, I let them know that the hate they felt for me
paled in comparison to the hate I felt for them. I made it perfectly clear that
if any one of them ever attacked me physically, I wouldn’t hold back next time.
And I made sure they knew their beloved quarterback was still alive only
because I allowed him to be. The next person might not be so lucky. I would
make sure they got the first swing and it would be self-defence. It’s what
‘real’ men do, you know.

Even my father’s
rants, became less frequent but they didn’t stop. The man was too redneck and
too stupid to back off totally. I was still a pathetic little pussy boy even if
he was now afraid of me. He knew, as did the guys at school, that Ross had been
instilled in us that karate was for self-defence only and, being the honourable
person I am, I would never take the initiative and attack him. But if he ever
attacked me, physically, as I said, I wouldn’t have held back and he knew it.
Therefore, the physical threats and beatings stopped altogether. Almost that
is. A couple of months after the quarterback incident, he came home drunk one
night and started in on me.

Instead of
cowering like I used to, I walked straight towards him, “Bring it on,” I yelled
at him, “I’ve been waiting for this chance for years, so please, bring it on.
Hit me, come on, hit me, just once. But you better make it good.”

He actually ran
through the screen door without opening it and then proceeded to fall down the
front steps onto the sidewalk. He had a black eye and his face was swollen and
all scratched up for weeks. And I never touched him. It was great. God I hated
him. It wasn’t until I calmed down that I realized I was probably lucky he
didn’t have his gun on him.

If you’re
wondering where my mother was during all this, she was killed by a drunk driver
when I was twelve, so it was just my father and I. And get this. Since my
father was the local sheriff at the time and it was one of his close friends,
the guy didn’t even get charged. In fact my father wrote up the accident report
with my mother running the stop sign. Considering where the vehicles ended up,
it was obvious that’s not what happened. Unfortunately, no one in town had the
balls to dispute his ‘findings’. That just added to my list of reasons to hate
him. ‘Helping out a buddy’ he called it. It’s what ‘real’ men do, you know.

Over those six
years, I had come to believe there were only three emotions, fear, anger, and
hate. They were the only emotions I ever saw and certainly the only ones I ever
felt. God, I hated my life. There were several times I just wanted to end it
all. If it wasn’t for Ross and my karate training, I might have. Ross turned
out to be a great guy and became not just my sensei but also my only friend. He
listened and I talked. I honestly think I am alive today because of him.

Oh yeah, I should
probably mention somewhere in here; I’m gay. But I’m thinking you already
figured that out by now. I figured it out when I was thirteen, just a few
months after my Mom was killed. It was the single scariest time of my life. Not
that they didn’t hate me anyway, but it was like the icing on the cake. Never
mind not liking football or spending too much time reading or making high
marks. That was nothing compared to being a fag. It made me everything my
father and the guys at school hated.

But, I’m gone now,
out of there, history. Those books I had my nose buried in. They were my ticket
out. They got me a scholarship out of there and nothing on the face of this
earth will get me to go back. I even won the ‘honour’ of being senior class
valedictorian. The principal called me into his office one day and announced it
to me as if he thought I would actually be thrilled or something. I will never
forget the look on his face when I told him exactly where to shove it and how
deep. God, they didn’t actually think I was going to attend their pathetic grad
ceremonies did they?

I don’t sound
bitter do I? If I do, I’m sorry. And I hope I’m not coming off sounding like
some whining little hard done by brat, because I’m not. Deep down, I happen to be a
genuinely nice guy. I know it doesn’t sound like it so far, but seriously, I
am. Think about it. All through high school I was surrounded by homophobic
idiots including my father, had a black belt in karate, and I didn’t kill
anyone. It’s only logical; I must be a nice guy. Okay, I broke a couple bones,
and the guy still sounds like a bullfrog but that was self-defence. I wasn’t
going to stand there and let him kick my ass, I’m not stupid and besides, it’s
what ‘real’ men do, you know.

And in the looks
department, can’t leave that out now can we? As I said, I’m five eight and
weigh a hundred and thirty pounds, a lean, mean, fighting machine, that’s me. I
have a great tan from working on a local farm all summer. I have brown hair and
very dark brown eyes, a perky little nose with a smattering of freckles across
it. Oh, and I have dimples too. How cute is that?

So, here I am,
cute as hell and getting off a plane ready to start my new life. More than a
thousand miles lie between that hellhole and me. Not just distance either, but
a border separates me as well. I didn’t even want to be in the same country as
them, so I applied to a university outside the US. I’m going to be attending
McGill University in Montreal, Quebec, Canada.

I did a lot of
research in my freshman year of high school. I wanted to find the perfect
university in the perfect city that was as far away as possible. I came up with
McGill in Montreal. You may not agree with me, but so what, whose life am I
living, yours or mine? For those of you who really need to know why I chose
McGill. Two reasons, one, it’s near the top of the list of quality universities
in North America and, two, Montreal also has one of the largest gay villages in
North America. I could finally be me in a totally accepting environment. Oh, and one more
thing. In Canada, you are old enough to go to the bars and nightclubs at
eighteen. And there are at least ten gay nightclubs along St. Catherine’s
Street in the village. What more could I ask for?

A boyfriend would
be nice. But hey, give me a couple of weeks.

Anyway, I’m
rambling again, so back to the airport. I can’t explain the feelings I was
experiencing as I walked off the plane and into the terminal. It was like a
hundred birthdays and Christmases rolled in to one. My entire body felt alive
with the excitement. I looked around and realized not one person here hated me
because I was the sheriff’s kid, because I was gay, because I was a bookworm or
because I hated football. Every thing was new, every person was new, I was new.
If I weren’t so self-conscious I would have broken into some song from The
Sound of Music and done the happy dance all the way to customs. But that wouldn’t
be what a ‘real’ man would do, would it? Besides, I wanted to live in a nice
little university dorm room, not a padded room.

It took about thirty minutes to get
through customs and out of the airport. I picked the closest of about twenty
cabs and I was on my way to McGill. I arrived on campus about twenty minutes
later. I was now standing on the sidewalk with my luggage beside me as I tried
to figure out which building I needed to go to. About twelve people walked
right by me, but of course, I didn’t ask for directions. It’s not what ‘real’
men do, you know.

I was just about
cave into my less manly instinct and dig the map of the campus out of my
backpack when someone came up behind me.

“You look a little
lost,” he said startling the hell out of me. I jumped and spun around only to
find the cutest guy I think I have ever seen standing there. No, definitely the
cutest guy I have ever seen. He was about five feet tall with very red hair,
tons of freckles, blue eyes and the cutest smile ever. Did I say give me a
couple of weeks? Maybe not.

“Excuse me?” I
asked. It wasn’t that I couldn’t understand him; I was just too taken aback for
my brain to actually register what he said.

“You look a little
lost,” he said a more slowly this time and with a slight grin. Oh my God, he
had the coolest French accent.

“Yeah, totally,” I
replied.

“No wonder, you
sound like you’re a long way from home,” he remarked laughing, “Arkansas, Alabama?” He’d
picked up on my accent in four words. I thought. ‘Wow, not bad.’

“Alabama,” I
answered.

“Wow, cool. Say,
are all the local sheriffs as scary as we see in movies?” he asked.

“Some are worse,”
I replied with a laugh. However, I didn’t mention I was thinking of my father.

“Chance,” he said
as he reached out his hand with an unsteady motion. I had to move my hand
around a bit to catch his so I could shake it. He didn’t even grip my hand,
which I thought unusual so I was careful not to use my normal grip on him.
Where I come from, you squeeze the other guy’s hand like you’re trying to break
it. Just to prove how strong and tough you are. It’s what ‘real’ men do, you
know.

“I love your
accent by the way,” he said.

“Jake,” I
responded, “Thanks, I love yours too.”

“Thanks,” he said
smiling.

“So, Jake, I
assume you’re going to be a freshman at McGill this fall and you’re probably
looking for the admin building, right?” he asked.

Wow, not only was
he gorgeous but he obviously had an IQ at least a hundred points higher than
any of the guys back home. I mean back where I came from. ‘Two things in his
favour already’ I thought.

“Yeah, I am,” I
said.

“Come on then,” he
said, “I’ll show you the way.”

Up until then, I
hadn’t realized he had a cane. Actually, I hadn’t taken in anything beyond how
gorgeous he was. When he started walking, I couldn’t help but notice that he
had a lot of difficulty. Both legs were sort of stiff and didn’t seem to want
to move properly for him. Also, his entire body swayed back and forth as he
walked. I felt the urge to reach out to help him but instinctively knew that
would have been a bad move. So I threw my backpack over my shoulder, grabbed my
suitcases and started walking with him towards the very large old building I
had been staring at when he approached me.

“I hope you’re not
in a hurry,” he said laughing, “Speed’s not one of my specialties. I tried out
for the track team last year and the assholes cut me after the first day of
tryouts.”

“No shit,” I said.

“Yeah, no shit. I
figured the hundred yard dash in under ten was pretty good,” he said grinning,
before adding, “minutes that is. Apparently the coach didn’t think so.”

“What the hell do
they know,” I responded laughing.

“I’m going to
tryout for the swim team this year,” he said.

“Oh, really?” I asked
sounding a little surprised.

“Why not?” he
responded with a little edge to his voice.

”No reason,” I
replied, “As long as you can swim.”

“Oh shit,” he
exclaimed, “Never thought of that. I guess it’s going to have to be the diving
team then.”

I looked at him
and laughed.

“What?” he asked
with a grin.

I just shook my
head.

We continued our conversation as we made
our way up to the admin building. He asked me about Alabama. I told him I hated
every minute of the last six years there. I didn’t want to give him a bad
impression of the whole state so I was careful to explain that the town I came
from sucked, at least for me, but that Alabama itself I thought was pretty
cool. He didn’t ask for any details for which I was grateful.

I found that he
was a native of Montreal. He was a sophomore at McGill and a psychology major.
I laughed and told him that was my major as well, so he could help me ace the
program. Since he would be one year ahead of me all the way through he could
help me with all my projects and papers. He just laughed and wished me luck.

As we approached
the front steps, he turned to the right and around the side was a wheelchair
ramp. He had to sort of grab onto the railing to help himself up the ramp. I
walked a bit behind him just in case but he had no problems.

Once we were
inside, he led me to an office where a very pleasant young lady greeted us. She
gave me a big smile and did that nasty girl flirting thing. Eewwww. I didn’t
have the heart to tell her she did absolutely nothing for me. Well, actually
she did. She gave me a bunch of forms to fill out. It took me about fifteen
minutes to get them done. Chance patiently waited for me to finish. I assumed
he would take off as soon as he got me to where I was going, but he didn’t. I was
glad. I really wanted to get to know him.

The young lady
asked me if I had been given a residence assignment with my initial information
package. I told her it was Gardner Hall but they hadn’t specified a room.
Chance immediately stepped in and stated he was in Gardner Hall and didn’t have
a roommate yet. He looked at me hopefully and suggested I should bunk in with
him. Since we seemed to be getting along, I already thought he was a great guy,
and as I said, I wanted to get to know him better, I agreed immediately. She
didn’t think there would be a problem with it and asked Chance which room he
was in. It was 429. She looked it up and no one was assigned to be his
roommate, so I was in. She went into the office and came out with the key and
gave me another packet of information about orientation and my class schedule
and we were off.

It wasn’t far to
Gardner Hall and we were there in fifteen minutes. Again, we chatted about
whatever came to mind. As we talked, it became evident that Chance was a very strong
willed person and he definitely had a wicked sense of humour. It didn’t take
long to decide this was going to be a good arrangement. I already knew one
thing; it sure as hell wasn’t going to be boring. I was also beginning to
really like him and the hope that we played for the same team crossed my mind
several times.

As soon as we were
in our room, Chance threw his cane onto one of the beds, so being the
intelligent person I am, I assumed it was his and, after dropping my luggage at
the foot of the other bed, I flopped down on it with a groan. I was exhausted.

“Long day?” he
asked.

“Very,” I replied.

“I can imagine
what with your flight and all,” he said.

“Yeah, I feel like
I could sleep for a week right now,” I told him.

“I can’t promise
I’ll be quiet for a week, but if you’re ready to crash for the night, I will be
quiet until the morning,” he said with a grin.

“Thanks,” I said,
“But I don’t think it would be a good idea yet. I’d probably be awake at four
in the morning if I went to sleep now.”

“Yeah no doubt,”
he replied as he sat down and then stretched out on his bed.

As we rested
there, I looked around the room. He didn’t have a lot of posters and crap on
his wall, but he did have a couple of pictures of soccer players and four of
swimmers and divers in their Speedos. He had one of Thomas Finchum that would
make a straight guy drool.

‘Hmmm,’ I thought,
‘maybe.’

The next thing I
knew, Chance was waking me up telling me I needed to get ready for orientation.
It took about fifteen seconds or so before I got my bearings and realized where
I was. I guess I fell asleep about two minutes after I told him I shouldn’t and
since I was sleeping so soundly, he just took my shoes off, covered me with a
blanket and let me sleep. Thankfully I slept through the night.

“Morning,” he said
once he figured I was awake enough to respond.

“Morning,” I
replied staring at him bleary eyed. (I was bleary eyed, not him.)

“You must have
been tired,” he said, “I don’t think you moved all night.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I
said, still not quite fully awake.

I did finally
manage to get up, shower, and change. As I still had more than half an hour
till orientation, Chance suggested we go to the cafeteria and have breakfast.
It was then that I realized I was starving. I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day
before and breakfast sounded real good.

After breakfast,
Chance showed which building to go to and told me to just follow the crowd as
everyone there would be going to the orientation. The whole thing only lasted
about forty minutes and they really didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already
know. The best part was the tables set out with snacks and coffee, which gave
everyone a chance to mingle and meet some of the other freshmen. Since I hadn’t
even unpacked yet, after about an hour I’d had enough mingling and decided to
go back to the dorm to do so. When I walked into the room, Chance was doing
something on his laptop. He shut it down as soon as I entered the room.

“So how was
orientation?” he asked as he turned to face me blushing a little.

“It was okay,” I
replied, “Nothing earth shattering, but I did get to meet some of the other
freshmen.”

“Meet anyone
interesting?” he asked.

“No not really,” I
said and he smiled.

“So, you want to
go for lunch?” he asked.

“I’m not exactly
hungry. They fed us a bunch of crap at the orientation.”

“Oh yeah, right. I
forgot about that,” he said, “Want to join me anyway? Have a coffee or
something and watch me eat? It can be pretty entertaining,” he added chuckling.

“I haven’t even begun
to unpack yet,” I told him.

“You have all
afternoon to do that and I can help if you want,” he responded.

“Yeah, okay then,”
I said.

“Okay, lets go,
I’m starving,” he said with another chuckle.

We made our way
over to the cafeteria and Chance picked out what he wanted, including a coffee
for me, and we put it all on one tray. I picked up the tray and we were walking
across the room to a table when Chance accidentally bumped into some guy who
was getting up from a table.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Watch where
you’re going retard,” the guy growled.

Big mistake. It
was one thing to badmouth me, but a whole other thing to badmouth Chance. I set
our tray down on the nearest table, and before the guy could react, I grabbed
him by the throat and told him to apologize. Instead, he tried to pull back so
he could get a swing at me. Another big mistake as I tightened my grip on his
larynx and squeezed hard. If no one has ever done that to you, trust me, it
hurts. It’s enough to make even the biggest asshole cooperative.

I stared right
into his eyes and in as menacing a tone as I could come up with I said to him,
“Two things. One, I’m a black belt. And, two, if you ever want to speak again,
you WILL apologize or I’m going to rip your throat out.”

He just nodded his
head slightly and I loosened my grip but didn’t let go. “Let’s hear it,” I
said.

“Sorry,” he barely
croaked.

“Thank you,” I
said as I let go of his throat, picked up our tray and nodded to Chance to head
off to find a table. We could hear the guy gasping and coughing trying to
readjust his larynx as we walked away.

“You didn’t have
to do that,” Chance said as soon as we sat down.

“Yes I did,” I
replied, “What he said was ignorant and uncalled for and it really pissed me
off.”

“Maybe,” he
responded, “But you can’t do that every time some asshole, who doesn’t know any
better, makes an ignorant remark. I’ve survived nineteen years without a
bodyguard. I appreciate your concern, I really do, but it’s going to happen
again and I can’t have you ripping peoples’ throats out every time it does.
We’ll have a bunch of guys having to learn ASL if you do.”

“Okay, sorry,” I
apologized, “But it really pissed me off and I can’t guarantee I won’t do it
again, but I promise I’ll do my very best to behave.”

“You better,” he
said.

He looked at me
for a few seconds before smiling and saying, “You know, you’re the first person
to stand up for me like that. Thanks. It felt good. But please don’t be doing
it again okay?”

“Yeah, I got it
the first time. No ripping out throats.” I said with a laugh, “How about I rip
their balls off instead?”

“Right, so we’ll
have a bunch guys running around with high voices. I don’t think so. Now,
listen carefully, no ripping off body parts period,” he said laughing.

“Your food’s
getting cold,” I told him.

He just grinned at
me and started eating.

A couple of days
later, I ran into the same guy from the cafeteria in the library. I was working
on a research paper for a psych course when I saw him approach the table I was
sitting at. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel anger instantly overwhelm me, as it
would have a few weeks ago.

“Got a minute?” he
asked me, his voice still sounding a little croaky.

I looked at him
for a few seconds before nodding. “Yeah, I guess,” I said.

“Look I’m really sorry
about the incident with your friend the other day,” he said, “I didn’t mean
what I said to him. In fact I didn’t even look at him before I said it. If you
had bumped into me instead of him, I would have said the same thing to you.
It’s one of those stupid things you pick up and say without thinking. If I’d
seen him before he bumped into me, I never would have said it.”

“Thanks,” I
responded, “I’m sorry too. I kinda overreacted. He gave me shit for it.”

“No, you were
protecting a friend,” he replied, “I would have done the same thing, probably
worse. My little brother has Cerebral Palsy too, and if some asshole had said
that to him, I probably would have put him in the hospital. So I know where you
were coming from.”

He then reached
out his hand and smiled as he said, “I’m Paul Reed by the way. Friends?”

I smiled back,
gripped his hand and shook it and replied, “Jake Bowman, Yeah, Friends.”

“Thanks,” he said,
“I got a research paper to do so I better get going. Catch ya later.” And he
was off.

As he walked away, it dawned on me that
Chance had Cerebral Palsy. He had difficulty with muscle coordination that was
obvious, but I hadn’t put a name to it. Actually, I never tried. It was just
part of who he was and putting a name to it didn’t make a damn bit of
difference. I was falling for him and that’s all that mattered.

Oh, and I did get
unpacked by the way. That in it self was an experience as Chance found a lot of
my possessions particularly amusing, especially my smiley briefs and a couple
of my lumberjack shirts as he called them. The entire process pretty much
involved his holding up some garment he found in my suitcase and laughing; me
saying, “Fuck you;” him laughing even harder then throwing it in the trash; me
retrieving it and putting it in my dresser. After we were finally done, he
insisted we go shopping for clothes. He didn’t think he could handle being seen
in public with me wearing some of the stuff he found in my suitcases.
Apparently there is a limit to the amount of embarrassment the human brain can
handle before it shuts down, or so he said. God I was so falling in love with
him.

Over the next few
weeks, we got into a routine. We always had breakfast and dinner together,
sometimes lunch if our timetables allowed. If we had assignments to do, I often
worked in the library. Chance would always work in our room. Part of the reason
for that was that he would use a recorder to make oral notes when reading a
textbook as he had limited use of his hands and didn’t have the fine
coordination to write.

Keyboarding was
also a problem so his laptop was voice activated. It was the coolest thing. He
would dictate notes, essays and research projects and it would write them up as
a Word doc. The only problem was, if I was in the room and he said something to
me without pausing it, it would type that into his essay. Usually he would
catch anything when he proofread it, but I’m sure some things got by him and
gave the Profs a good laugh.

During our
discussions I learned that high school had not been as bad for him as it had
for me, at least as far as harassment was concerned. Junior high was a whole
other story and he didn’t even want to go there. But, his high school had zero
tolerance for bullying so he had been pretty much left alone. Although that, in
itself, had been a problem as he was, just that, left alone, literally.

Unfortunately most
of the kids had difficulty overlooking his CP and found it easier to just
ignore him. Few had tried to make friends with him or even talk to him. He did
have three close friends from high school though. Two of them were at McGill,
Karen and Sheila. I got to meet them on several occasions. They were both very
attractive and full of life. When the four of us got together it was a blast.
We all had the same sense of humour and managed to make a scene wherever we
went. I’m sure there are several places that won’t let us in again if we ever
try to go back.

What he had told
me about being ignored hit home one day at lunch, we walked into the cafeteria
and there were four people standing in line waiting for their orders. They
watched us walk in and as we got closer, they all turned away. Once we were
standing right behind them, Chance said, “Hi,” to them. Three of them pretended
they didn’t hear him. The fourth turned, smiled and replied, “Hi.” but picked
up his order and left as quickly as he could.

After we got our
lunches and sat down, he looked at me. He wasn’t smiling, so he obviously
wasn’t happy which was unusual.

“Fuck that pisses
me off sometimes,” he told me, “You have no idea. You can be surrounded by
hundreds of people and be totally alone. You walk down the hallway and everyone
moves away from you. It’s like the parting of the Red Sea. Or you say something
to them and they pretend they didn’t hear you like those guys.”

“You’re right I
can’t imagine,” I replied, “For me it was the opposite.”

“Why?” he asked,
“Why can’t people see past my CP? I mean, yeah, I have trouble walking and
can’t use my hands properly. But that’s the only difference between me and you
or anyone else. Why can’t they see past it? It’s so fucking frustrating
sometimes.”

“Yeah I’m sure it
is,” I said, “But it’s not a problem with you it’s a problem with them. It’s
their own self-consciousness.”

“What do you
mean?” he asked.

“Well because you
are different and it’s visible, I think they’re afraid of doing something to
offend you, like stare, or say the wrong thing. It’s unfamiliar territory.
They’re insecure and don’t know how to react, so it’s easier to walk away.
People don’t like to feel insecure,” I said, “Most people will avoid anything
they see as different. Think about it. If someone has a huge hairy mole on
their cheek, you tend to look at anything but their face even when you’re
talking to them. Why? Because you think…they think…you are staring at their
mole. You look everywhere but at their face. Even if you were looking at their
mole, they’ve had it all their lives so they probably couldn’t care less.
You’re the one feeling uncomfortable, not them. If they didn’t have a mole, you
would look right at them. Right?”

If nothing else,
my analogy struck him as funny, took him out of his funk and had him laughing
and joking again.

“You are so
fucked,” he said laughing, “So basically what you’re saying is I’m like a huge
hairy mole that has difficulty walking so I make people self-conscious.”

“Yeah pretty
much,” I replied with a grin.

“If I could make a
fist, I’d punch you out for that,” he threatened with a chuckle.

“No, no, no, black
belt, remember,” I said laughing.

Our conversation
became much lighter after that and we finished our lunch feeling much more
relaxed. As we got up to leave, he looked at me and smiled. “Thanks,” he said
then laughed as he added, “But you’re still fucked.”

I just smiled at
him and blew him a kiss. God I was so in love with him.

The more I got to
know him, the more I learned about him, the more I came to love him and the
closer we became. I did eventually open up to him. I told him about the
harassment at school, my father the sheriff, my mother’s death and how the guy
got away with it. But I kept my deepest secret hidden. I wasn’t ready to tell
him about that part of me. Not yet. I thought I was picking up little hints
from some of the things he said and his posters. Oh my God, his posters. It all
made me think that maybe he was gay and maybe he liked me the same way. I knew
he liked me, but. There was always but.

Growing up where I
did, my gaydar was non-functional. I wasn’t sure if the hints were real or just
wishful thinking. I had seen so much hate and rejection in my life that despite
the signs he would be accepting the fear always won out. Finally, one day, I
decided that I was being stupid. I wouldn’t jump right in and tell him I was in
love with him, obviously, but I would start out by telling him I was gay. One
step at a time I thought. I knew he wouldn’t reject me. He wasn’t that kind of
guy. If he wasn’t gay and didn’t feel the same way, at least we would still be
friends. I thought I could live with that. I started think of ways to bring it
up and to practise what I was going to say to him.

Over the next few
days, however, I noticed a change in him. He was becoming really quiet. He
wasn’t his usual happy, confident, joking self and he seemed to be growing more
solemn and withdrawn every day. I asked him if everything was okay. He just
said he had a lot of stuff on his mind at the moment and not to worry.

I’m sorry, but it
worried me anyway. I decided to hold off saying anything to him about being
gay. But, I decided if he didn’t say something about what was bothering him
that night; I was going to ask him what was wrong in morning and insist on a
proper answer not just ‘stuff on his mind.’

After we had gone
to bed and he had been lying there quietly reading for a few minutes, he put
down the book and in almost a whisper, said “Jake.”

“Yeah?” I
responded quietly.

“Thanks,” he said.

“For what?” I
asked.

“Being so cool and
being such a good friend,” he replied.

“You’re welcome, I
guess,” I told him, “It works both ways though you know. You’ve been a good
friend too.”

“Yeah, but with
you, it’s been different,” he went on, “From the first time we met, you treated
me like a regular guy.”

“You are a regular
guy,” I said.

“Yeah, but you’re
one of the few people who’s noticed,” he said with a forced little laugh.

“And you love me
for it, right?” I asked laughing.

He was quiet for a
several seconds and I was afraid I’d really put my foot in it but then he went
on to say, “You have no idea how much it means to me.”

“Like I said, it goes
both ways, you took in this backwoods little hillbilly from Alabama and have
been my best friend since I got here,” I told him.

There was a long
pause in our conversation. I think we were both thinking of the possibilities.
I know I was. It seemed like there was more going on than just his expressing
his appreciation for my friendship. I really hoped there was. He hadn’t blown
off my comment about loving me. That somehow gave me hope so I decided I needed
to tell him I was gay. The time just seemed right somehow.

Finally I said to
him, “Friends aren’t something I’ve had a lot of in my life.”

“You’re kidding,”
he said as he turned his head to look at me, “You’re good looking, outgoing,
fun to be around, why would you have trouble making friends”

“I didn’t have
trouble making friends, I just didn’t want friends because I didn’t want any of
the assholes I grew up with to be my friend,” I said.

“Why not?” he
asked, “What was wrong with them?”

Okay, ‘here goes’
I thought, as I replied, “They were all a bunch of homophobic jerks.”

“Oh?” he responded
inquisitively.

“Yeah, and I’m one
of the people they were homophobic about,” I said as my voice trailed off.

There, I’d done
it. I came out and I was scared to death. Not because I was now out, but
because I was out to the one person I wanted desperately to like me? No, that I
wanted desperately to love me.

As soon as I said
it, he sat up on the side of his bed and just stared at me.

After about a
minute, I couldn’t take it any longer and I began to tear up. I turned my head
towards him and finally asked, “Say something, please.”

I could feel the
tears running down into my ear. I so didn’t want to cry. It’s not something a
‘real’ man would do, you know.

After a few more
seconds, he got up, came over and sat on the side of my bed. He just looked at
me for a minute. I turned so I could look into his eyes. They were as full of
tears as mine, and ready to overflow.

He reached over
and brushed my hair back off my forehead, then ran the back of his hand across
my cheek and smiled.

“Why are you
telling me this?” he asked, “I need to know.”

I reached up and
took his hand in mine, brought it to my lips, kissed it gently and smiled at
him.

“Oh, God,” he
whispered.

It was then I knew
our feelings for each other were mutual. I sat up and pulled him into my arms.
He wrapped his arms around me, pressed his face into my neck and began to cry.
That started my tears in earnest too and we sat for several minutes, holding
each other and crying.

Eventually, I
pulled back and looked into his eyes. I didn’t know what love looked like since
I had never seen it, but I was pretty sure what I saw in his eyes was love. I
leaned in and kissed him. His lips felt so soft, soft and gentle, like him. It
was probably one of the most unusual kisses ever as we were both still crying.
But it was my first kiss, it was with Chance and it was perfect.

We did finally
stop crying. But we didn’t stop kissing. I flipped the covers off the far side
of the bed and began to lie back pulling Chance down with me. He managed to
wriggle under the edge of the covers and I flipped them back over both of us.
He immediately moved so he was half on top of me with one leg between mine.
There are no words to describe how that felt. If the world ended at that
moment, my life would have been complete.

“You don’t know
how much I’ve prayed for this,” he said, “I never in my wildest dreams expected
you could love me.”

I know at this
point, I should be thinking how amazing it felt to have his nearly naked body
against mine. And it did, believe me. Or I should be thinking about making mad
passionate love to him. And I was, believe that too.

But the most
imposing thought was that he loved me. Chance loved me! At that moment, I felt
every ounce of anger, hate and bitterness from the past evaporate and lift off
my shoulders.

I had dreamed of
what it would be like to hold someone like this but lying here in Chance’s arms
was so far beyond anything I had ever imagined. I hugged him tighter, kissed
his forehead and smiled as I thought, ‘It’s what ‘real’ men do, you know.’